Maurice was puzzled.
"Lieutenant," said the girl, "Monsieur--Carewe?" turning to
Maurice.
"Yes, that is the name."
"Well, then, Monsieur Carewe has met with an accident; please
escort him to the gate. I trust you will not suffer any
inconvenience from the cold. Good evening, Monsieur Carewe."
She retraced her steps down the path. The bulldog followed. Once
he looked back at Maurice, and stopped as if undecided, then
went on. Maurice stared at the figure of the girl unfil it
vanished behind a clump of rose bushes.
"Well, Monsieur Carewe!" said the Lieutenant, a broad smile
under his mustache.
"I beg your pardon, Lieutenant. May I ask you who she is?"
"What! You do not know?"
Maurice suddenly saw light. "Her Royal Highness?" blankly.
"Her Royal Highness, God bless her!" cried the Lieutenant
heartily.
"Amen to that," replied Maurice, his agitation visible even to
the officer.
They arrived at the gate in silence. The cuirassier raised the
bar, touched his helmet, and said, with something like an amused
twinkle in his eyes: "Would Monsieur like to borrow my helmet
for a space?"
Maurice put up a hand to his water-soaked hair, and gave an
ejaculation of dismay.
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